The Selfish Scribe

With all the words that I possess
I will etch in time 
The vindication of our long lost vendetta
So that the premise of our legacy 
Will not be tarnished by the lonesome hands of dire men
For with my voice I will wait by the hours of spring
And dance to the hours of midnight 
To disgrace the scripted smile 
That we once bared 
Yet, at times I have become conflicted with this task 
For the cortex  that brims with my empathetic ways
Has lost sight of what was
Once a layer of my deepest  sympathies
A pity …
But, still I will like to the earnest soul of mankind
Because then maybe the madness of these words and thoughts
Will find the gift of silence 
And I can rest with the goodwill of humanity 
If there is  such a thing 
Perhaps I have grown selfish to want such a world
Even so still will I formulate words that promotes 
A life of clemency   
~ Tony Paradise’s Poet ~

One comment

  1. Dear Tony Yang Sir, the spirit of writing wakes up when confronted with love, when ignited by passion, when torn apart by atrocities, when wounded by the ways of the world. Though the mammoth task of changing the world and humanity rests with the harsh world itself, and not in the hands of the scribe, the pen keeps on moving selflessly, maybe selfishly and relentlessly, that even a small change brought about would mean that all did not go waste.


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